


Forbidden Fruit

by Ducks



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: D/s, Dubious Consent, F/M, Humiliation, Incest, Porn, Smut, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-05
Updated: 2009-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ducks/pseuds/Ducks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five REALLY Naughty Pornlets for BRING BACK THE Pr0N DAY 2007!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not My Daddy

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be clear for anybody who doesn't get the line between fiction and reality, by writing these, I am in no way condoning any of this behavior in real life, nor is it meant to offend those who consider themselves survivors or victims of any of these things in real life. I'm very clear that sexual relationships involving an imbalance of power not agreed upon by two consenting adults is BAD. I am also well aware that being gay, cross-dressing and/or teens safely exploring sex with other teens is NOT bad. This is fiction, okay? The point of these is to be as inappropriate as I can be subject-wise in response to the attack on freedom of expression by the small minds of various corporate entities that shall remain nameless.

1\. Giles/Buffy - BtVS Season 3 (Underage Sex, Graphic Language and Sexuality)

 

He bent her over the checkout desk late one night and shoved himself deep inside her, clutching her slender hips so tightly that he left hand shaped bruises that made him glad that Angel was no longer privy to intimate visions of Buffy's tender flesh.

Giles had felt Angel's wrath when the vampire was soulless, and the Watcher held no illusions that conscience would make narry a difference at all if Buffy's boyfriend found out just how his beloved was working off her built up sexual tension after a hard's night's slaying these days.

How both of them were.

He had resisted for so long. Kept his distance, played the father figure. On some level he did care for her that way -- cared more for her own well-being than his own. Would do anything for her, to see her happy, alive, fulfilled. Die, kill, let the world be sucked into hell. But during her absence last summer, during those endless days and nights where he was certain he would never see her smiling face, never hear her laughter or snide cynicism or unintentional brilliance again, he realized...

The one thing he could never do was be without her. And so he realized, though protective and father-like he might sometimes feel, ultimately what lived inside him that whispered and moaned and snarled Buffy's name was a thing quite different than that platonic thing called 'foster-father' or Watcher.

In those weeks since Angel's return, the months since Buffy came back from Los Angeles, he continued to resist. Continued to tell himself that the way he felt was wrong. She was too young, too fresh, too innocent. Forget it. Find someone more appropriate, like her mother, whose body he'd already possessed, at least for a night.

Then she had returned late one night from a particularly brutal fight, sweaty and tired and smelling of earth and musk, and he was suddenly an animal with no brain or conscience himself. He hadn't paused to ask, to kiss her softly and find out her feelings on the matter. Had she been less... aroused and interested, less quick to respond to his passion in kind, it might well have been rape, but he had a difficult time caring about that until much later.

The fashionable clothes his Slayer wore were flimsy and gave under his touch with no resistance at all, as did her body. He dove to the hard feast of her pebbled nipples, heard her cry out, bury her small fingers in his hair and grind her already damp crotch into the leg of his slacks, he knew that she needed this as badly as he did. So much loss, so much uncertainty in their lives, in their callings, and all they really had to count on was one another. Of course things would go this way. Of course. Only natural. A man, a woman, loneliness, desire, need, passion. What did numbers of years or labels or positions in the civilized world matter in the face of that?

Then she was tearing at his much more sturdy clothes, and even the finest British haberdashery could not stand up to Slayer strength. In a moment, his wool slacks were torn away entirely, his boxers shredded and abandoned, and Buffy's hot, callused little hand was wrapped tight around his cock, stroking him in just the right way as if she had been doing it forever.

God, how he wished she could do it forever. He cried out, his voice echoing through the library and reminding him how long it had been... besides the candy and Joyce. How long since someone had wanted him. Since he had wanted like this. He thrust into her grip and she pulled him to her, hissed in his ear.

"Please. Please fuck me. Fuck me now."

He snarled like a rabid animal and flipped her over, slammed her into the check out counter and took her. Hand tangled in her long, thick hair, his head thrown back, knees braced against the riotous tide of pure, animal lust that threatened to send them both crashing to the hard marble floor. Rammed himself home, deep, hot, wet, hard, over and over again, reveling in her screams, her cries of encouragement, the way she met him, thrust for thrust, slamming back and taking him to the center of her. The tip of him slamming into her cervix again and again until the world became nothing but their frantic breathing, flesh slapping together, Buffy's feral grunts as she received him, and then... the peak. That pinnacle of all creation, that one place that all men sought, no matter the appropriateness, no matter their intellect, no matter, no matter, no...

"BUFFY!"

Giles let go. Let all of everything ever go as he never had before, and spilled inside her like this orgasm, this coming was a coming home, the start of something new, something better, something... Oh, God, she was coming with him, her fierce inner muscles clamping down around him, squeezing him, milking him dry of misery and pain and all that bloody aloneness that never ended. They exploded together, reborn. She cried incoherently, mindlessly as she pulsed around him, reaching back to claw the flesh of his ass and then...

"ANGEL!"


	2. Inappropriate Content

2\. Faith/Dawn - BtVS Season 7 (Underage Sex, f/f slash)

 

"It's the end of the world, and I've never... I mean... we could totally die tomorrow, and I want..."

Faith could have let the girl go on and on... and probably on, but what was the point? She knew damn well what Dawn Summers wanted. The only thing she couldn't figure was why Buffy's kid sister wanted it from her.

"You want somebody besides you to make you come."

Dawn flushed beet red, her eyes going wide as she looked away. "I..." She swallowed stiffly, stared at the carpet and nodded. "Yes."

"Didn't know you liked girls, Sunrise," Faith said, bringing up that long-ago nickname on purpose. Maybe if she made the kid uncomfortable enough, she'd go away before Faith was forced to take her up on the offer of untouched flesh given so freely. Man. Just the idea of it made her seemingly constant arousal lately kick up a notch, and she felt her own pussy pulse at the notion of all that fresh, hot skin under her mouth and fingertips. The unassuming trust, the cries of discovery and shock that anything could be so fucking good.

There was nothing quite like a virgin, given the right circumstances.

The youngest Summers shrugged, a gesture so like her older sister that it only made Faith hotter. And brought back sharp visceral flashes of younger days, more innocent, decadent. The two Slayers, tangled together in the carefully trimmed hedges inside Sunny Rest. In the ratty bed in Faith's hotel room. In Mrs. Summers' shower when Buffy's mother was out of town. In the stacks at the library. In Xander Harris' basement. Everywhere, anywhere they could get their hormone-addled hands on each other.

Of course, Buffy was a total LUG (Lesbian Until Graduation) though, and hadn't shown even the slightest interest in Faith since her prodigal return to the 'Dale. But this... maybe this was better. Dawn would be hers, all hers, and there wouldn't be any guilt or Angel issues involved to get in the way of the fun.

"I like both," Dawn finally confessed, forcing her gaze back to Faith's in a show of bravery that made the Slayer dig the kid just a little bit more for her own sake than for her older sister's. "Janice and I make out all the time. I just want to go farther. I mean... if the world's going to end tomorrow. Tonight might be my last chance."

Faith shifted up farther in the bed, squirming a little bit at how turned on all of this was making her. Pretty much since she'd been back here in the Summers house, her dreams had been filled with nubile young proto-Slayers throwing themselves at her, licking and sucking her into screaming bliss, but never for a minute had she thought anything would come of it. Hell, she'd been counting on spending the night with that hot principle, truth be told.

Must have been all the feminine hormones floating around here that made this seem like so much better of an idea suddenly.

"Fuck it," Faith decided aloud, and swung out of the bed, standing up mere inches from the target of her attention. The rest of the house was already settled in sleep, that heavy quiet you can only get in a building full of tense, horny, scared women trying to rest. Hell, Faith had just spent three years in the joint, which was exactly that kind of place. And really, she thought as she took Dawn Summers into her arms and claimed that lush little mouth with her own, the kid reminded her a lot of Phaedra, Faith's cellmate and lover on the Inside. They both had that long, lanky, not-quite-grown thing in common, but Dawn had the addition of nice, hefty tits. Plus, Phaedra had been almost 30, and Dawn...

Hell, if Dawn was a day over 16, Faith really couldn't give any more or less of a shit. The kid was old enough to know she wanted somebody else to give her an orgasm, so who the hell was Faith to say she wasn't ready to get exactly that?

The girl was pretty much putty in her hands. Dawn moaned and melted like butter as Faith devoured her lips, tasting that pouty flesh as it parted to admit her tongue, plunged inside to tease the one within until Dawn responded by digging her long, slender fingers into Faith's hair, blunt, practical nails gouging her scalp. That shot of pain was enough to kick Faith's arousal up a notch... or ten... thousand. It had been a while since she had somebody new, and this somebody in particular hit more of her buttons than she was willing to admit out loud.

She suckled Dawn's tongue, eliciting a deep, throaty moan from the girl as her knees buckled. Faith followed her down as Dawn fell back on to the bed and came to rest beside her, giving her better access to her long, lanky body. Faith liked women with long legs like Dawn's, and she already had a perfectly detailed visual of them wrapped around her head while she ate that tender, young pussy.

But there was an entire night still ahead of them, a long way to go before this was through. Dawn wanted an orgasm? Faith was going to give her a couple dozen by sunrise...and show the younger woman how to give a few back besides. The trick was to make Dawn so hot that she would beg for everything, from the giving and the receiving ends.

Faith continued to assault Dawn's mouth with her own, nipping her lips, sucking her tongue, feeling the taught young body flex and writhe beneath hers. She nudged Dawn's legs apart with her knee, and brought it up tight within the juncture of the younger woman's thighs, grinding into Dawn's crotch, hitting her sweet spot roughly even through the thin yoga pants she wore. Faith could tell when she scored a direct hit by the increasing volume of Dawn's cries, and Faith rubbed her own aching pussy against the hard ridge of Dawn's hipbone as it hit just the right place.

Faith slipped her eager hands under Dawn's tee shirt, caressing her smooth, fresh skin with a feather soft touch, making the kid shiver and moan all the more, arching her back as if she could bring Faith's knee deeper into her crotch and force her to fondle her breasts. It was hard to miss that Dawn had come dressed for the occasion -- no bra hampered Faith's access to those lush tits, and no panties came between Faith's knee and the sopping wetness of Dawn's hot pussy.

"Jesus, you're wet," Faith hissed in her ear, then dove down to nibble and lick at that tender shell before moving down to her strong jaw, and then the pale, pulsing column of her neck. She spent so much time exploring this area, along with the fine bones of Dawn's clavicle and shoulders, that the younger girl was fairly humping Faith's leg before she was through. That was a good signal that it was time to move on. She slid her hands along the sides of Dawn's trembling body, taking the soft cotton material of her tee shirt with them, then pulling it up over her head and tossing it away, exposing that fantastic chest to the cool air of Buffy's bedroom.

Another thing Dawn had over her sister, besides the endless legs, the inexperience, and heartier build -- those luscious tits. Not only were they hefty and round, but they were tipped with dark coppery areolas with big, hard nipples in the center.

Faith's favorite. She could hardly wait to get them between her teeth, but there were other moves to make first. She licked one long, slow line from the hollow in Dawn's collarbone, over her sternum and the hard plane of her upper abdomen, paused to swirl the tip of her tongue in the belly button, and finally ended a millimeter above the low-rise waist of the cotton pants. Dawn clutched Faith's shoulders as if for dear life, moaning and sighing like she was dying, and Faith knew that so far, all was going according to plan. She could ask for almost anything, now, and the youngest Summers would give it to her. Faith followed the same wet trail in reverse, but now blowing cool air between her lips and watching the goose flesh rise beneath.

When she arrived at Dawn's face, those big, blue eyes were wide open and staring at her in wonder, kiss-swollen lips parted, sweet breath panting, soft cheeks flushed, and the musk of her arousal perfuming the air. Faith couldn't remember the last time she had seen anything so fucking hot. She plunged back in for another devouring kiss, her hands suddenly out of her control as they claimed those breasts, fingertips circling from the outer curves inward to the nipples, avoiding any contact with them until the very end, when she pinched both between thumb and forefinger -- just the tiniest shot of pain with the pleasure.

Dawn fairly roared, her legs spreading wide open and her pelvis slamming up into Faith's, struggling for more rubbing for her pussy. But Faith raised her hips up and away to deny her that sweet friction.

"Not yet, baby," she murmured in the whimpering girl's ear. "Just wait. You wanted to come, I'm gonna make you come all night."

"God, Faith, please!" the girl cried, reaching up to clutch at Faith's bare ass with her fingernails. Faith hadn't bothered to dress in more than a tee shirt herself while she recovered from her near death experience, and now she couldn't be more glad as Dawn forced Faith's bare pussy down onto her hip once more. "Please, please please fuck me please."

It was like a shot of pure adrenaline in Faith's blood, those moaned, desperate words from the kid beneath her. And suddenly all of her carefully laid plans didn't seem as important as getting her fingers deep into that tight, wet sex, and giving Dawn that climax she wanted so badly. There would be time for more, slower, careful orgasms after. With Slayer strength, Faith tore the yoga pants Dawn was wearing into shreds and threw them aside, climbed on top of the bucking, writhing young body, and plunged three fingers directly inside Dawn's already throbbing snatch. She was sopping wet and tight as Faith expected, but there was no physical barrier to bar her full entrance. Didn't matter -- kids lost their cherry all kinds of ways these days that didn't involve sex.

Faith couldn't have given a rat's ass at that moment as she climbed Dawn's form, watching her young face go wild with bliss as Faith fucked her, slamming three fingers into Dawn's pussy, and sliding her thumb up over her clit with every thrust. Most kids went for the soft and gentle first time, but not the sister of the Slayer, oh no. She bucked upward, forcing Faith in harder, faster, deeper, crying out and snarling like some kind of animal, uncaring about the house full of others all around them and below, until finally she froze. Her eyes flew open, staring blankly into nothingness. Her pussy squeezed so tightly around Faith's fingers that the older woman could swear she heard her knuckles crack, and came in a silent, shuddering rictus that shocked the hell out of Faith.

All the noise Dawn had just been making on the ride up, she would have thought the kid would be more of a screamer. But hey, there were still other tricks to try.

"Oh God, Oh God, Oh, God!" Dawn was panting, gone limp and still on the bedspread. "That was amazing!"

Faith gave her a wicked grin and began to slide face first down Dawn's torso toward that fount of sweet funk she could smell below.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, Sunrise," she purred.


	3. Mommy Dearest

3\. Connor/Darla (Incest)

 

He dreams of his mother at least once a month. Not sweet, nice dreams, either, but the kind that make him wonder if there isn't something wrong with his head.

It started when his memories returned after the fight with Sahjan; when Connor realized that he was not Connor, Average American kid at all, but rather the impossible hellspawn of two dead people. A psychopath raised in a Hell dimension by an old time-traveler driven mad by thoughts of revenge. When the vision of the tiny, ethereally beautiful blonde woman pleading with him not to commit murder had given him a hard-on that wouldn't quit until he jerked off to visions of her closing those fair, rosy lips around it.

It doesn't seem real, that this delicate creature could have been a vicious vampire that dusted herself to give him life. He wishes he could ask his father -- his real father -- about her, but that might lead to questions Connor isn't ready to answer. Even for himself.

Instead he just falls into the dreams, where there is always darkness and a storm raging outside the old warehouse where he knows he made love to Cordelia and conceived Jasmine, but where instead he fucks his mother until she screams and plunges her fangs into his throat and drinks him dry until he's dead, still spasming with the strength of his orgasm. He wakes tangled in sticky sheets, his hand still fisted around his now-soft cock, and wishes he could do it all over again even as he wishes he could die from the shame of it.

His mother. He has wet dreams about fucking his own mother.

But the facts of it don't matter. She never held him in her arms when he was a baby. She never suckled him at her breast or even heard him cry. She never changed a diaper or watched him grow or did anything that a mother was supposed to do except appear that single time, and he's fairly convinced he was batshit then anyway and only imagined her.

Only... how could he imagine someone he had never seen, never even heard of except in nightmarish tales told to frighten him and fill him with rage and the urge to kill...

He shuts it all away, the knowledge, the memories. She comes to him and offers the solace of her body, and having missed it as a child, he refuses to say to no to taking it now, no matter how wrong and twisted the uncaring world outside might see it to be. She whispers his name, calls him her sweet boy, takes him inside her, feeds him her breast, drinks his blood from groin and wrist and throat, and makes everything okay again.

Maybe that makes him twisted. Maybe that makes him insane. But it's the only comfort he's ever been able to find, the only buffer against the ugly, bloodthirsty thing he knows he inherited from her that lurks deep inside of him. She takes it away, she sips it from his veins and leaves his heart clean even as he knows his soul is dirty and long past saving.

She lies waiting for him in the narrow bed of his dorm at UCLA, pale and naked and shining in the moonlight. Her pubic hair is trimmed and such a light blonde it's almost as though she is bare, and he steps into the room stripping, already painfully hard for her. His cock doesn't care who she is. It doesn't care about anything but her hands, her mouth, that soft, tight pussy as he pushes into her, wondering how she can be cool and wet all at once but figures that's a question like how could she carry him for nine months at all and oh, God, how can this be wrong when it feels so. Fucking. Perfectly. Right?

"She was the Devil," his father... no, Holtz... told him, "And your father was her concubine. It is your duty to return some day and rid the world of their evil."

The Devil gets on her hands and knees and shows him her supple backside, and he can't help but put his hands on that flesh, rub the tip of his cock slowly up and down her cleft and get harder still at the deep, throaty moan she gives him. He teases just the first inch inside her, gives a few shallow thrusts, and she rewards him with the words that haunt him in that voice that always pleads in his memory, "Yes. Please. Fuck me, Connor. Fuck me, my sweet boy."

He does. He always does. He doesn't think he could stop himself even if he wanted to. He blankets his body over hers as he drives deep. Pretends for a moment he is really her child in the same way his father is -- God, already so much incest in their family even without this -- and clamps blunt teeth down hard on the back of her neck. She cries out, slams back onto him as she comes, her inner walls squeezing him so hard he could swear she will break his cock off and he doesn't care, he just keeps pounding into her, slamming flesh into flesh like he can go back inside if he just fucks her hard enough. Like he can return to that quiet world of liquid and darkness and utter safety if he could just shoot in the very center of her. Hurt her as much as he hurts just existing.

"Yes! Baby, yes!" she screams. "Give it to me!"

"MOMMY!" he screams back at her and the word loses all meaning in the blinding light of his orgasm.

She never stays after he comes. He opens his eyes again a moment later, the next morning, the next night, and he's alone. The way he's always been. He can call Angel and meet him for coffee and wish for a minute that things were different. But he can still hear Holtz's lies in his head "evil. Devil. Kill," and the echoes of Darla pleading with him. "Don't kill... fuck me. Don't... fuck..." And he finds that sometimes he wants Angel the same way he wants that bizarre dream mother-lover, and so every time he decides never to call him again.

At least when he sleeps, all there is, is pleasure, and he never has to question whether he should exist at all.


	4. Here's to You, Mrs. Summers

4\. Joyce/Oz - BtVS Season Three-ish (Underage Sex, Graphic Language and Sexuality, semi-bestiality)

 

The first time she comes on to him, Oz has a quick flashback to The Graduate. Joyce's long, slender fingers on his knee under the dining room table, carefully manicured nails digging just a little into his leg. Just enough to freak him out.

Just enough to make him hard.

He clears his throat and shifts in his chair, both to rearrange the boys and to get a little farther away from her.

Surely she didn't mean it that way. It's just close to the full moon, that's all, and everything seems more... *more* now than it usually does. He turns away to listen more closely to what Giles is saying and puts the moment behind him. Imagination.

Two nights later, though, Joyce traps him in the corner of the kitchen, pushes him up against the wall and kisses him, caresses his instant hard-on right through his jeans, and he moans in spite of himself. Almost comes in his shorts when she nips his bottom lip and says, "I've always wanted to fuck a werewolf."

Then lets him go, grabs the soda she was bringing to the dinner table and walks away, spending the rest of the night pretending it didn't happen.

Now he's sure he's going nuts. That's the only explanation, right? Buffy's MOM would not want to have sex with him because he's a werewolf! Nobody in their right MIND would want to have sex with him because he's a werewolf. Hell, there was a time when he and Willow had talks about him wearing gloves when for their first time, because in spite of Giles' sputtering assurances to the contrary, Oz couldn't help wondering if he would infect her.

He's still so, so careful not to break her skin no matter how enthusiastic things get. He always holds back, so afraid...

As the gang leaves that night, Joyce catches him on the way out the door, fondles his rear and whispers, "I'll see you tomorrow night, Daniel."

He's got the new cage in the graveyard, but now he half wishes he could go back to the library and have someone there to watch him, because Jesus H. Christ he doesn't want to have to deal with the consequences if he's not going crazy and hallucinating all of this.

Mrs. Summers: werewolf groupie. By the time he kisses Willow good night and heads to bed, he decides to make an appointment with a psychiatrist Giles recommended with experience in the supernatural. He would much rather be cracking up, because therapy and medication he can deal with. Buffy's mom coming on to him... not so much.

The first night of the full moon, he locks himself in and strips like he always does, half watching the entrance to the crypt in part-terror, part-anticipation. Having decided he was simply going crazy, it's easy for him to think about Joyce as the attractive woman that she is. Even fantasize a little bit the night before as he jerked off, imagining her standing naked in front of the cage, saying, "I have a spell to protect me, and I know the combination..."

Except now she is standing in front of the cage, naked, saying exactly that. Oz stares at her with his mouth hanging open, but realizes after a moment that he's gawping at her surprisingly firm breasts and their coppery nipples instead of looking her in the face. She walks to the cage, smiles at him, and punches in the combination.

"Wait!" he objects loudly, but she swings the gate open, steps in, and slams it shut behind her, grabs him by the cock, and pulls him into a fierce, bruising kiss.

"No," she growls in his ear. "I spent a lot of money for this spell, and I'm going to use it to the fullest. Don't worry. You can't hurt me. You won't even be able to shift all the way. Just enough to make it..." She licks his ear from lobe to tip, the bites along the edge before she murmurs, "Hot."

He feels the sun set in his blood, that wash of boiling heat that makes it seem like his skin is going to melt off his bones as his body starts to shift. But there's no pain this time, and his consciousness remains somewhat, enough to realize that Joyce is down on her knees with his cock in her mouth as it grows, thickens, becomes so monstrously big that no woman would possibly want to...

But the animal inside him obliterates his thoughts as it wakens. He is still present, still human in some measure, but without conscience, without care, full of nothing but lust and hunger and the desire to rend and tear and rut. He pushes her away so that she falls on her back in the hay sprinkled over the cement floor. She lies there, all bare skin and tender flesh, eyes wide with fear even as he can smell the sudden increase in her desire as moisture floods between her legs.

She likes being afraid. She wants him to hurt her. Her nostrils flare as if she hears his thoughts and affirms them. He takes a step toward her. Hesitates just for a moment with the last bit of his will, some sliver of his being still terrified of what's about to happen.

Then she reaches out her hand, and that sliver is crushed under a tidal wave of pure lust. He leaps on her with no other thought but to mate. She screams and laughs all at once as he tears into her with cock, fang, and claw, laps away the blood from the wounds and tastes her orgasm straight from her veins as she drives into her again and again, mindless, savage, desperate. His own heart thunders in his ears as he explodes in the kind of ecstasy he has never even dreamed of sharing with... the Other.

He wakes the next morning alone, not a sign remaining of what he could have sworn happened the night before. When he goes to meet Willow at Buffy's house, Joyce is as she always was before -- nice and polite, offering soda and snacks that are in the kitchen as she rushes out the door. He spins to watch her grab her jacket and purse, open the door... and throw him a saucy wink before she disappears into the day.

Oz closes his mouth with an audible snap and swears he will find a new place for his cage next month.


	5. That's MISTRESS Queen C to You, Slave.

5\. Xander/Cordy - BtVS Season 2 (BDSM)

Cordy tightens the strap and gives the dildo jutting out from her groin a good yank just to test how well it will stay when things get going.

Because things are going to get rough, oh yes. She smacks the cat-o-nine tails against her palm and gives Xander a wicked smile.

The skirt barely fits him, but she likes it that way -- she can see the lacy pink thong she bought peaking out from beneath the shiny black pleather, his balls barely contained within. The matching bra is now filled with the falsies she ordered on the internet, complete with hard nipples for her to suck; the blonde wig fastened securely to his hair with pins to make sure it won't fall off when she yanks it. His makeup is perfect this time, the bubblegum lipstick shining with the extra gloss she applied, the heavy kohl eyeliner making his dark eyes look huge, and the mascara making his eyelashes impossibly long and thick.

He is, by far, the hottest thing she's ever seen. Of course, it helps that he's dangling from her basement ceiling by their shiny new manacles.

"Well, well, well, Harris. Aren't you the hot little slut. Look at you, all tarted up like a whore, just for me."

His eyes tick away from hers -- he knows how to play the game. "Yes, Mistress. All for you," he says softly, staring intently at the floor. Cordy's smile quirks a little on one side as she decides what to do next. She marches over to where he's hanging, and brushes the hard rubber cock up against his hip as she leans in to whisper in his ear.

"If you're a very good boy, maybe, just maybe, I'll fuck you up the ass. Would you like that, Harris, you little bitch?"

She watches as his cock bulges against the confining lace of the panties, and he gives an unconscious grunt of pleasure-pain. "Yes, Mistress."

"Yes what?" she hisses.

"Yes, I would like you to fuck me up the ass, Mistress."

"Good boy," she says, and steps away to start slowly circling once more. He looks so weak and helpless, hanging there. He must be in so much pain with his dick just getting harder and harder without being able to break free of its lacy prison. She trails the feathered handle of the cat-o-nine down his chest, over his hard-on, and under to brush against his balls. He whimpers softly, and oh, is it good.

"Mistress..." he moans.

"Did I tell you you could speak, Bitch?" she barks. He shakes his head.

"Just for that, I'm not going to take your panties off while I fuck you. I'm not going to touch your dick. What do you think about that?"

Xander says nothing, but she can hear his breath hitch just a little, then resume in an increasingly frantic pant. He thinks she can't see, but she notices that he's twitching his hips, just a little, probably getting some really uncomfortable friction against his cock and balls from the rough lace, the thong rubbing against the satin skin of his sensitive perineum, and puckered ring of his ass. She closes her eyes as a strong pulse of lust twitches between her legs, and a warm rush of moisture seeps into the leather panties attached to the dong she's wearing.

She takes hold of his shoulder and slides him along the track in the ceiling until Xander is bent over the special padded bench, his ass poking up in the air with nothing covering it but a thin strip of hot pink lace.

"Oh, God," he moans as his cock slides into the groove in the padding made just for that purpose. Cordy knows it takes all his will not to just start humping the thing.

But she also knows he won't be able to hold back for long. She grabs the bottle of Astroglide from the shelf beside the table, and steps between his attractively spread legs. He trembles before her, never quite knowing if she's going to whip him, fuck him, or leave him lying there, helpless, unable to fully get off.

She decides to try something new. She squeezes lube out in her hands and begins rubbing her fingers in gentle, soothing lines up and down his crack, sliding the g-string just enough out of the way so that she has access to his hole. She circles it slowly with a tender fingertip, slicking up the outside of him before slipping a finger inside and fucking him in smooth, long strokes, finger crooked just the way he likes it.

"UGHN!" he grunts into the table, clenching his butt cheeks around her hand and beginning that slow, frustrating slide back and forth on the hard surface beneath him. Cordy pulls out, and slides back in with a second digit, fucking him until his single grunt becomes a quiet litany of them, each laced with a little more pain and frustration as his poor cock continues to be punished. She spreads the fingers, stretching him open a little wider, and slips the ridged handle of the cat-o-nine tails into his ass. Now his chant becomes a cry, and he forces his body forward as far as it can go before ramming it back on the tool once again.

"Do you like that, Xander?" she croons as she fucks him with the handle, loving the way he tries to hump the table, but swing back to make her fuck him harder at the same time.

"God, fuck, yes!" he shouts.

Cordy rips the handle out of him, and waits for him to finish screaming before she says, "God, fuck, yes WHAT?"

He sobs, "God, Mistress, PLEASE!"

"Please what, Whore?" she murmurs, stroking the thick head of the dildo up and down his exposed rear parts. "What is it you're begging for, my sweet little slut?"

"Oh, Mistress, I need it. I need it, please, Mistress. I've been a good boy. I have. I need you inside me."

She presses just the tiniest bit of the head against his hole. "Like this?" she teases.

"No, all of it! I need all of it!"

"Need all of what?"

He moans, low and deep, and she could swear he sounds like he's crying when he says, "Mistress, I need your cock in my ass. I need it so bad."

"That's more like it." She grabs the lube again and re-wets his ass, then slicks up the giant dildo until it's gleaming before she takes hold of his hip with one hand, and the hard dong with the other. "I'm going to fuck you now, Harris. And I don't want you to make a sound until I tell you that you can, do you understand?"

"Yes. Oh, yes, Mistress," he pants, trembling with the effort to keep himself still and wait for her instructions.

Cordy pops the fat head of the dildo into his already stretched hole. His entire body tenses, and she can practically hear him biting right through his lip to keep from making a sound. She smiles as she digs the fingertips of the other hand into his other hip and slowly, painstakingly, stretches Xander's ass to the limit as she shoves herself inside. He's shaking so hard he wouldn't be able to hold himself up if the table wasn't doing it for him, and when Cordy is seated as far into him as she can go, she reaches down to switch on the vibrating attachments -- one situated on her clit, and the other, an egg sunk deep inside her pussy.

As the conductor of this little game, she doesn't have to keep herself from crying out. The sensations rip through her like an electric storm, and she can't hold back as she pulls the dong out and then slams it back into Xander again, over and over again as her orgasm rushes toward its peak. She shouts every time she rams into him, as the motion slides the vibrating parts up and down her clit, in and out of her pussy until she's fucking Xander so brutally he goes completely limp beneath her. But before she can bother to care -- after all, he's never said the safe word, and he's allowed to do that even when she's commanded him to silence -- she comes like a nuclear bomb exploding, screaming at the top of her lungs and reaming her lover like her life depends on it.

It takes Cordy a moment to regain full consciousness, and when she does she very gently slides the dildo out of Xander's poor, violated ass, glad and somewhat surprised to see that there's no blood. He's twitching and trying desperately not to whimper beneath her, so he's obviously not too much the worse for wear. Once she's free, she turns off the vibrator and unlatches the manacles from the ceiling. Xander slowly turns over, and she sees his face is flushed beet red.

He likes the pain so much that sometimes she worries he might not use the safe word even if he really needs it. But then he grins at her, waiting for her command.

She can't help the tenderness that leaks into her voice. "You may speak."

"Mistress, may I make myself come?"

Cordy shakes her head. "No."

The look of pleasure on his face collapses into one closer to horror.

She drops to her knees in front of him, and draws the panties carefully off of his dick, slides them down his long legs and tosses them away. "Why don't you let me make you come?" she offers.

They're going to be way tired and sore at school tomorrow, but it'll be worth it.


End file.
